Infected
by breakfastwithfairies
Summary: Dirk Strider is alone in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. When he comes across a fair-skinned infant with red eyes, he can't help but scoop him up and try to help him survive, but obstacles get in his way. /I wrote this for a narrative in school, so swear words are censored. AU, characters may not be 100% IC because it was just for English class. May continue, character deaths.


Infected

Dirk Strider could hear his pulse pounding mercilessly in his ears. His lungs ached and burned, his heart pounding against his ribcage. It seemed like an arduous chore every time he lifted his feet, egregious sensations of pain shooting up his long legs. A thick aroma of death lurked in the air. Zombies shrieked and moaned at deafening volumes. He had lost track of how long he was running; most thoughts had disappeared from his mind except for the paramount reminder that he needed to keep going. It wasn't only himself he had to protect, but also a helpless infant with silky, sandy-blond hair, whose crying was being drowned out by the undead. The child was diminutive in size, wearing tiny denim shorts and a red shirt. In his hand he gripped a tiny superhero toy with a blue cape and thick black glasses. He was unable to speak yet, and it seemed like he, much like Dirk himself, had lost his parents and been left alone to fend for himself. It was mostly for that reason he had felt the responsibility to scoop him up in his arms and run, rescuing him just in time from an approaching horde of zombies. Now, even as he was rendered almost completely defenseless due to his occupied arms, he couldn't bring himself to regret the decision when he felt tiny fingers grip his previously white, blood-stained polo shirt. The sticky, humid Texas air was unforgiving, especially in the middle of August, despite the disappearing sun. It was incontrovertible that he needed to find an escape to avoid passing out from dehydration, thus endangering the lives of both himself and his new companion. Dirk was one of the few people in Houston that had managed to survive as long as he had. The apocalyptic situation had started out as an epidemic in the city, but as people attempted to escape and failed, it grew more widespread. His parents had told him three months ago to stay inside their apartment until they returned with supplies. They never came back. When he finally accepted their fate, he decided he needed to get as far away from Houston as possible. He also knew that he would be by himself on this journey. Even before the year 2000 apocalypse broke out, he had always been an outcast due to his rare sienna irises.

Exhaustion clouded his mind and possessed his body. His veins replete with adrenaline, he spotted a jade-colored car, covered slightly with debris. and in juxtaposition to a deserted post office. This was his chance. If by chance the car had a key in it, he could escape. Turning around, he noticed he had gotten a reasonable distance away from the horde. He gulped, his throat dry and painful from desperately gasping for air. He knew he couldn't make any fallacious decisions, or it could cost him his life. Running to the car and ripping open the door, he instinctively jumped back as a zombie threw its arm out at him from the driver's seat. The horrifying zombie was already missing an arm, and it had a wound in its chest. Its eyes were a dull almond color, its pupils having completely disappeared, and they were glazing over, almost unseeing except for the iridescent hues at the edges of its sockets. Blood was dried on its chin, its breath containing a foul, rotten odor. It lunged at him, letting a blood-curdling shriek escape its deteriorating throat as it threw itself toward the teen with all its might. His heart beating like a jackhammer, Dirk shifted the startled baby into his left arm and kicked the zombie in its knee as hard as he could, the gut-wrenching sound of a kneecap being dislocated emanating throughout the thick atmosphere. The undead man let out a shrill groan, falling to the ground with a harsh thud and a gasping snort. Dirk repudiated the idea of defeat as he viciously kicked the zombie in the side of the head with his ebony boot, the steel toe pounding into the softening temples of the soulless corpse repeatedly before he stomped its face in completely, crimson blood and brains spattering up his dark jeans. Hesitating for a moment to ensure it was dead, he took a step back, a shaky exhale escaping his sunburnt lips as his heartbeat continued to pound away.

He adjusted his dirty old Texans hat that he had gotten from his father, looking down at the child and whispering, "You don't cry much, do you, lil' man?" The infant responded with a whimper, crinkling his tiny nose at the offensive scent of the undead.

The grunts and moans of the prodigious mob began advancing closer again, so he quickly got in the car and slammed the door, locking it with frantic speed, silently thanking God that the key was already in the ignition. Gently, he set the child down in the passenger's seat before slamming his foot on the gas and peeling out. He glanced down at the gas gauge, his mood being immediately exacerbated whenever he noticed that it was almost on empty. He should've known it was dubious that a cast-off car would have much efficacy in getting him to safety. While looking out the window and hoping to see signs for a gas station, he noticed the child peering up at him. His eyes, Dirk noticed for the first time, were a deep scarlet shade.

"Well, you little freak of nature, I guess you and I really do belong together," Dirk said. He knew it would be spurious for the small boy to comprehend his words, but it was comforting to hear anything but silence and screeching zombies. He simply blinked, calmly turning to look out the window at the hell that was unfolding just outside the car. Dirk wondered if the kid would grow up thinking that it was normal for so much death to be happening; if it was normal for undead creatures to be spreading their infection and affecting the population of the nation. He hoped that someday, the child would be able to experience some type of normality. But the apocalypse had only just begun.

Finally, after driving for what seemed like an unconscionable amount of time, Dirk noticed a sign not for a gas station, but a gun shop. He pulled into the parking lot, vacillating over whether or not he should bring in the child. The car was certainly not unassailable in any way, and he could easily be snatched out of it, but he wasn't sure how well he could fight with a baby in his arms. Eventually he decided against leaving him unoccupied and once again scooped him up into his arms, nonchalantly striding in through the glass doors. Like most other buildings, it seemed to be deteriorating, abandoned by its owners and left to rot. Looking around at the exorbitant prices of the guns, Dirk scoffed. They had no monetary value anymore; their only value now was that of the lives that belonged to the people holding them.

A sudden noise caused Dirk to jump and whirl around, his eyes darting around the store.

"H-Hello…? he whispers into the shadowy recesses of the room, his voice raspy from dehydration.

"Shhh!" answers a voice, its owner unseen. Dirk stands still, still searching, narrowing his eyes in attempts to find the owner's hiding place.

Right then, a girl looking about Dirk's age stood up from behind a counter. She was wearing an old baseball tee with blue sleeves, black jeans, sneakers, and a blue bandana tied in her onyx hair, which was styled in a messy bob. Her blue eyes shone even behind her glasses.

"Don't make too much noise, stupid," the girl said, reaching behind her and flipping on lights. "You'll attract zombies."

"I know that. Why do you think I whispered?" Dirk retorted.

"I'm Jane," the girl said, ignoring his comment and taking a step closer to outstretch her hand. "I keep my weapons behind here. Is that a baby?"

"Dirk. And does he look like a baby to you?" he answered, a superfluous amount of sarcasm dripping from his playfully pugnacious tone. The child cooed, and Jane once again only selectively paid attention to part of Dirk's response.

"Weird name," she snorted. "To match your weird eyes, I guess."

"Way to be 're vicious," Dirk said.

Jane shrugged. "An apocalypse does that to people."

"I guess."  
"Why are you carrying that baby around anyway? Is he your brother or something?"

"...No," Dirk answered. "I just found him, and I couldn't just let him lay there and get eaten."

Jane sneered almost sophomorically. "Softie."

"Whatever. Are these anyone's guns?" Dirk asked, glancing around.

"Now they are," Jane exclaimed, lunging forward and breaking the glass that had previously encased the guns.

"So much for being quiet to avoid zombies," Dirk commented stoically.

The small boy in Dirk's arms began squirming and whimpering, indicating he was going to start crying soon.

"Oh, yeah… uh, do you have water and food here by any chance? It kinda seems like you've made a home of this place," Dirk said hopefully. Jane nodded.

"Of course," she said, leaving the room for a moment before returning with a huge can of applesauce and two cups full of water, one bigger than the other.

"Is there more back there?" Dirk asked.

"Yeah," Jane answered. "I just got back from a supply run."

"Good," Dirk said, sitting the child down on a counter and quickly gulping down the bigger glass to supplant his voracious thirst with satisfaction. Jane watched as he put the smaller cup to the child's tiny lips and slowly tipped it, the younger reaching his pudgy hands out to pull it closer and tip it back further.

The two fell silent, becoming lost in their own thoughts while watching the blond infant drink until Dirk caught a glimpse of a zombie right behind Jane.

"Jane! Behind you!" he cried, cutting through the eerie silence. Right as she began to turn around, the zombie grabbed her around the waist, sinking its rotten teeth into her neck, her shrill, blood-curdling shriek echoing off the cement walls. Flailing its limbs and making grotesquely inhumane snarling noises, it knocked her glasses off her face. They fell to the ground with a crash, the glass shattering into hundreds of tiny pieces around her feet as the zombie began taking thick bites out of the skin connecting her neck and shoulder. Blood spurted violently from her jugular vein, painting the walls a macabre, rusty shade of carmine as her knees weakened and gave out, falling to the dusty wooden floor with the sickening crash of a body hitting the ground full-force. Now unable to breathe, she gasped, making a desperate attempt to cling to life as her head hit the ground, the tiny shards of glass slicing open her delicate facial skin in a multitude of compact wounds. As the zombie turned on Dirk, the baby wailed and Dirk managed to evade the enemy just long enough to grab a sword from behind the counter. Using both hands, he lunged at the zombie and plunged the sword through its chest, deeply penetrating through its decomposing organs. He took a quick step backward, ripping the sword back out with all his might before swinging once more at its throat, the nauseating snapping sound of the clean decapitation of the zombie reaching Dirk's ears and causing his stomach to turn. As the zombie fell in defeat, Dirk turned his attention to Jane. She lay on the floor, her hair falling slightly in her face, her eyes already becoming glazed over.

"I'm sorry I couldn't know you for longer than a couple of minutes," Dirk whispered to the body of the loquacious Jane. Without a second thought, he slammed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath and raising the sword above his head before slamming and wedging it into her chest as hard as he could, putting Jane out of her suffering and eliminating the inevitable outcome of her changing into a zombie, along with the other thousands of Houston citizens.

The small blond boy's gentle whining had escalated to a cry, his fright evident in the short, panicked breaths and widening eyes. Dirk hurried over to him, picking him up and holding him against his chest, his breathing hasty and rapid.

"It's alright now, lil' dude," Dirk said, smoothing his bangs back and patting his back with his other hand, attempting to be as soothing as a damaged teenaged boy could be. Surprisingly, the baby's wailing was quickly calmed, now returning to sniffling and small, occasional whimpers. Dirk backed himself into a corner of the room, holding the child close and sliding down the wall, tears welling up in his eyes. Maybe he needed just convincing as the child did.

"I promise you're gonna survive this," he whispered, his weak voice once again wavering as he wiped a tear from his eye. "You don't even have a name, do you? Here, I'll give you one." He stood up and scanned the counter until he found a Sharpie and settled into the corner again, hugging the boy tightly.

"Do you like the name Dave?" he asked quietly. He smiled softly as the boy looked at him with bleary eyes, wonder now spread across his facial features. Dirk uncapped the Sharpie and wrote the child's new name across the back of his shirt, as if he was on a sports team.

"Congratulations, Dave," Dirk said, closing the marker and holding Dave up in front of him. "You have a totally kick- %$ name now. Just like you're gonna be when you survive this thing and grow up all cool and strong." Dave kicked his legs playfully, his mood obviously being ameliorated by the loving, big brother-like attention he was receiving. Dirk could commiserate with him; he knew it was difficult to be alone, but he knew he would never know how awful it had to be, being as young as he was and having no sense of family, other than a stranger that scooped him up and decided to care for him on a whim. Dirk did not consider himself magnanimous at all for his decision; he just couldn't bring himself to ignore a helpless and frankly adorable human that would undeniably have been eaten if he hadn't rescued him.

Becoming overtaken by a heavy grogginess, Dirk flipped the lights off and laid himself down on the ground, pulling Dave onto his chest and resting his hands on his tiny back, attempting to sleep before the night became too morose.

When morning came once again, Dirk was awakened by the growling of his own stomach and Dave's stirring. Dave had been tugging gently on a strand of Dirk's blond hair, and when Dirk opened his eyes, the boy reached up and grabbed the front of his red 2002 Texans hat and started flailing his chubby arm. Dirk raised an eyebrow at him.  
"What are you trying to do?" he took the hat off, putting it on Dave's head. It was much too big, and it covered his entire face. Dave stopped moving, slumping his shoulders for a moment before making a comically irritated sigh. Dirk chuckled and took it off of him, putting it back on his own head and sitting up. He yawned, raising his arms above his head to stretch.

"You hungry, weirdo?" The older boy stood up, now able to see the entire store due to the light flooding in through the glass windows. He grimaced, the air thick with the pungent stench of the decaying zombie, and it wasn't exactly pleasant to look at his dead acquaintance either. He ripped a curtain off one of the gun cases and lay it across their bodies, while Dave watched him from the ground.  
Joining him behind the counter once more, Dirk noticed stacks of cans piled up underneath it; apparently they used to be Jane's food source. Dave crawled over to them and flailed once more, knocking three of them to the ground with a loud clank. The commotion caused a zombie that had been walking by to stop abruptly, turning its head in the direction of the store.

"...S#$%," Dirk muttered. He picked Dave up under his arms and moved him underneath the counter, which was blocked from the other side by stacked gun cases.

"Stay underneath here," Dirk instructed him, whether he could understand him or not, and picked up the already bloody sword, standing in preparation to battle not only one zombie but also the small group following behind it.

As they pushed themselves in, he killed them in various ways; some got stabbed through the chest, some through an eye socket, some got completely decapitated. Just as he thought he had gotten them all, he turned around abruptly, only to face one eye to eye. Panicking, he stumbled backward into a heavy metal gun case. As it began to tip over so the side he looked down, and, to his horror, saw Dave, cowering right in the path of the falling deathtrap.

"Dave!" he yelled, moving as quickly as he could to pick the child up in his right arm and then transfer him to his left, desperately reaching to return him underneath the counter where he had told him to stay. But just as he had gotten Dave into safety, the case fell onto his right arm, his shoulder breaking its fall. Another sickening snap sounded throughout the room, followed by a blood-curdling scream ripping from Dirk's lungs. He knew that his shoulder was broken, and it was likely that most of his arm suffered the same fate. Adrenaline giving him strength, he pushed the case as hard as he could in the direction of the zombie, enough to cause it to stumble backward slightly, giving him the chance to grab a pistol and shoot it in its head. Slowly, it fell to the ground, twitching for a moment before becoming completely still. Dirk's mind raced. He reached down with his left arm, his right arm grabbed the now-crying Dave once more and retreated to the car, sitting him in the passenger seat. Dirk took his hat off and leaned forward, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. At first he sat catching his breath, until a soul-crushing thought came into his mind: Now I can't keep Dave. He glanced over at the boy, who was seemingly calming himself down, even after the traumatic experiences he had undergone in just two days. I can't hold him in my right arm anymore, and can't really fight well with my left. And I can hold him in my left, but my right arm is pretty much useless.

Dirk started the car, deciding what he had to do. Just as he had developed a kind of bond with the boy, he had to abandon him. Dave sat playing with his feet and making absent cooing sounds, completely oblivious.

Minutes passed. Dirk drove silently, occasionally glancing out at the barren landscape and abandoned, empty houses that had once been full of happy, smiling families. The sun was high in the sky, the heat radiating off the ground creating a false illusion of a joyful, serene summer afternoon. The streets were mostly clear, save a couple of empty cars and dead bodies lying on the sidewalks. Whenever the apocalypse initially broke out, everyone scattered. Dirk wished enough people were alive to stick together and create some type of order, working together to shut out the zombies and live a relatively normal life. But the overabundance of walking dead and deaths occurring daily made that idea unobtainable.

Finally finding what he had been looking for, Dirk pulled the car in front of a house. A light on inside gave Dirk the assumption that it was lived in, along with its well-managed car and a tire swing in the yard. Taking a deep breath, Dirk put the car in park and pulled Dave into his lap.

"I"m gonna miss you, kid," he said, poking the child's nose. Dave smiled a cheesy, baby-toothed grin, reaching up to swat at his hat. "You better stay super awesome. You're a Strider now too."  
At these words, red eyes peered up into orange ones, raising his tiny eyebrows as if they were questioning.

"You have no idea what I'm talking about, don't even act like you do," Dirk said, a small, sad smile accompanying his words. A painful lump began rising in his throat, and his eyes stung, threatening him with tears.

I barely know this kid, Dirk thought, so why does this hurt so badly? Pulling the child into his left arm one more time, he stepped out of the car, using his foot to close the door. He swallowed his sorrow, stepped up on the porch of the inviting house and knocked on the door.

There to answer it was a man with short, slick jet-black hair, wearing a businesslike hat and clean, tidy clothes. In his arms was a tiny boy looking to be about Dave's age with shining sapphires for eyes hidden behind thick black glasses, messy raven hair, sporting a navy blue cape.

"I'm sorry to bother you and I know you don't know me, but do you have room for one more?"

…

Dave Strider walked alongside his best friend John, kicking stones as they discussed the book they had both been reading. Today had been his sixteenth birthday. His light blond bangs contrasted with his scarlet eyes, kept out of his eyes by his dirty old red 2002 Texans hat. He wore a long-sleeved baseball tee with red sleeves, black pants, and red Converse, and he carried a sword attached to his jeans. He and his black-haired, blue-eyed best friend had lived together since they were children.

"...Yeah, but in chapter 12-" John was interrupted by the wailing screech of a zombie. The two of them whirled around to see an undead man who seemed to be in his late 20s whenever he died. The zombie wore a ragged, ripped, and clawed-at white polo and boots with holes in them. As it hobbled closer, Dave noticed it still had some blond hair left and its familiar, unique apricot eyes seemed to hold some kind of emotion behind them that Dave couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Don't just stand there, Dave! Get it!" John urged him.

Dave said hesitantly pulled his sword out of its carrier and plunged it through the zombie's stomach.


End file.
